You Taste Like
by axisofadorable
Summary: No one is safe. Not even a hero. Rated M for a reason.


YOU TASTE LIKE

'Guys! Look what came up in my yard. Do you believe it? It's huge!' America burst into the conference room with an excited grin on his face. In his hand was an enormous sunflower. It seriously was huge, as big as a dinner plate at least. It was the biggest one he had ever seen. Undoubtedly it was the biggest one his fellows had ever seen, either. They were going to be so jealous.

'I'm the hero,' he said, just to rub it in. 'Even my flowers are bigger.'

There was silence following his announcement. Stunned silence, America thought happily. They WERE jealous.

Still grinning widely, he looked across the room, and on the way his eyes met those of… Russia.

Uh oh.

The grin started to slip off America's face. Yes, he wanted the others to be jealous of his heroically-sized sunflower, but…Maybe not Russia?

Russia was just a little bit scary.

A little bit. I mean, AMERICA wasn't scared of him, but still. He didn't exactly want to be on Russia's bad side, either.

Not that he knew exactly what being on Russia's bad side would entail, but he did have a feeling that it might involve that pipe that Russia liked to carry around. Or maybe a pickaxe. Possibly even blood.

'Uh,' America said. He lowered the sunflower a little bit, and his cocky grin turned to a slightly nervous appeasing smile. 'Hey, Russia. I didn't see you there.'

Russia didn't exactly look pissed, America thought hopefully. His eyes were focused on the sunflower though, and they were kinda wide.

America looked down at it, too. Wow, it really is big, he thought. There was a moment of pride, and then his heart sunk again as he remembered that Russia might be pissed at him. 'Uh,' he said again.

Then, for lack of anything better to do, he ducked his head and buried his face in the giant sunflower.

It wasn't like he was HIDING. He just felt like putting his face in the sunflower for a moment.

Really.

Wow, things got really quiet all of a sudden, he thought. I wonder what…

When he felt a hand on his shoulder, America jumped. Taking his face out of the sunflower so quickly he almost got whiplash, he looked up… into lilac-colored eyes.

Oh shit.

Russia!

How the hell did he move so fast? And so silently?

America gulped. It was not heroic to be scared of Russia.

Not even when Russia's hand wrapped around his own. The one holding the sunflower.

Not heroic at all.

'Uh, you can have it,' America said.

Way too quickly, but who was he kidding? He WAS scared of Russia right now. Everyone was scared of Russia sometimes.

He tried to let go of the flower stem, but Russia's hand wouldn't let his open. Instead, Russia lifted both of their hands and brought the sunflower up to his face.

He really is taller than me, America thought. Damn it.

The thought had little relevance. It was one of those things that just popped into his head. Normally he wouldn't mind, but right now it was a distraction. He watched anxiously as Russia smelled the sunflower for a moment. Was he smiling? It was hard to tell.

'Really, you can have it,' America said again.

At his words, Russia lowered the sunflower. His purple eyes looked a little bit unfocused. He licked his lips.

Oh god, please don't let him snap on me, America thought.

I'msorry,I'msorry,I'msorry, I'llbegood, I'llbegood, I'llbegood…

He closed his eyes. Russia was still holding his hand, and he felt like a fox with its paw in a trap. A small fox. A scared fox.

HOW did Russia manage to have this effect on people? He was so… goofy looking.

Russia's other hand closed around America's chin. America flinched- the black glove touching his face was cold and smooth.

His eyes popped wide.

He might have yelped.

Not a heroic yelp. No doubt the expression on his face was not heroic either.

Russia didn't seem to hear. He lowered his head, leaned in and… Sniffed America?

Was Russia sniffing him? Seriously? Sniffing his face?

'Um, hey,' America said, rather more mildly than he intended. 'Hey, now.'

'You smell,' Russia said. He was smiling, that little curving smile he did, the one that could mean that he was feeling friendly like a big cuddly kitten, or that he was about to say something absolutely terrifying in a deceptively soft, cheerful voice.

Something like, you smell.

'I what?' America asked. 'You said I _what?' _

Wait, was he getting pissed off now?

This might be good.

'I WHAT?!' Yep, he was pissed off. At least now he sounded like a hero again.

But, 'You smell,' Russia repeated, as if the heroic outburst hadn't fazed him at all.

It hadn't. Russia smiled another smile, even bigger than the last one. His eyes sparkled.

That smile was almost cute, if psychotic, over-sized monsters in snuggly scarves could be cute.

America didn't think that they could be. Not right now.

Was this the friendly, lovable Russia, or the scary, beat-you-to-death-with-his-metal-pipe Russia?

America couldn't tell. No one could ever tell.

Did he really smell?

America turned his head and sniffed at his own arm. He smelled a hint of cologne. Possibly a whiff of lighter fluid. Maybe some exhaust from his amped up Mustang.

Nothing bad.

He did not SMELL.

So, what then?

What was going on?

Russia pulled on his arm. Russia was dragging him across the conference room. It looked like they were heading for the door.

This couldn't be good. Maybe Russia thought America smelled so bad he didn't belong there.

Maybe he was going to throw him out. That was somewhat better than the other possibilities America's supercharged brain came up with as they crossed the floor.

He was getting really nervous now.

They were almost to the door. Someone had to stop this!

America looked around frantically, and his eyes caught the wide, frightened eyes of Finland, France and North Italy. They looked terrified.

So this _was _bad then, America thought.

He looked for England, just on instinct, but before he saw him, Russia had pulled him all the way out of the room.

The door closed behind them.

'Russia,' America said. He used his best 'I'm-serious-we're-allies-and-all-but-this-is-NOT-cool voice.

Russia wasn't listening to it. Russia pulled him along the hallway. His grip was bruising-tight, his gloved hand squeezed America's fingers and crushed the stem of the sunflower that had started it all.

The bloom bobbed giddily, as if it was nodding.

America wanted to shake his head in reply.

No, he thought. No way.

But another thought was kicking its way to the surface of his mind. Was this it? Was America about to become one with Russia?

No way, he thought again. I'm AMERICA. I'm too big. Too heroic.

Russia can't annex ME.

He can't, right?

Russia opened another door. America couldn't see to what, Russia's body was blocking him.

His shoulders are way too broad, America's mind remarked in another moment of irrelevance.

Russia pulled forward, and America was propelled into the room. Room?

It was a broom closet.

The door shut behind them.

America was in a broom closet. With Russia.

Oh, my god, he thought in despair. This IS it.

Nothing good ever happens in a broom closet! Maybe Russia wasn't going to annex him. Maybe Russia was just going to kill him.

Inside the closet, Russia smiled down at America. 'Hey,' he said. He didn't seem to see the panic on America's face. Maybe it wasn't there.

Maybe I still look like a hero, America thought.

'This is better, da?' Russia asked.

Better? Better than what?

Better than being killed? In a broom closet?

Russia leaned down to him.

Oh my god, America thought.

What is he doing?

What is he going to do?

Uh oh. No way did he look like a hero now. In fact, he probably looked like a pants-pissing little kid.

Maybe his first thought had been right after all. Maybe Russia WAS going to annex him.

I don't want to become one with Russia, America thought desperately. I don't!

Russia leaned down further, and then laid his cheek against America's.

Thoughts went through America's head, too fast to catalogue.

Russia's cheek was cool, and rather soft. Strands of his platinum hair were tickling America's skin.

He was awfully close. Awfully, awfully close.

This was uncool, America decided.

This was way too much closeness with Russia.

I'm a hero, America thought. I'm a hero.

I'mahero,I'mahero,I'mahero…

'You're okay,' Russia said. 'Not scared? We're friends, da?'

Then he turned his head.

No, America thought, no, I'm not okay.

Russia is kissing me.

Well, Russia wasn't exactly kissing him, but their lips were touching.

THEIR LIPS WERE TOUCHING!

What the hell?

Dude, America thought.

Dude, there is a dude, and he is…

It's Russia, and he is…

Russia is…

'Can I?' Russia asked. When he spoke, his lips brushed America's. It felt weird.

America tried to flinch back from him, but there was nowhere to go.

Broom closet. Very small.

His head bumped up against the wall, and their lips were still touching. He could feel Russia's breath ghosting over his skin. It was warm.

Had Russia moved with him, or was the closet really THAT small?

He asked me a question, America thought. I had better answer it before he does something else.

'Can you what?' he asked back finally. His lips brushed Russia's when he spoke.

It felt w_eird._

Russia made a little noise. Maybe it felt weird to him, too.

'Can I… please?' he asked carefully.

Apparently he thought that 'please' was the response that America had been looking for, because he didn't wait for permission again.

'Ulp,' America said. It was not really a word, but it was the only sound he could manage. Because now Russia really _was_ kissing him.

Russia tasted like alcohol, mostly. Alcohol and water.

Vodka, America thought dazedly. At least he's sanitized…

Russia's tongue was in his mouth.

It was the last thing America wanted to be thinking, but the first thought that popped into his head was: he's really not bad at this.

He had kissed the way that Russia was kissing him- he was a hero, after all.

But he had never BEEN kissed the way that Russia was kissing him.

It was different.

And it was RUSSIA.

Oh, no, America thought dazedly. Oh, no, no.

Russia's hands were on either side of his face now, holding his head still in case he had tried to back away through the wall again.

(He didn't, he wasn't stupid).

They were cold, but Russia's lips and tongue were not. He made small urgent sounds as he kissed America. His hands were just a little rough, and his mouth was, too.

It was… different.

America opened his mouth to protest, but that just made Russia kiss him deeper. As he did, he stepped forward, pressing America up against the wall.

Um, America thought, I think this is bad.

Russia's hands left his face and slid down his front, all the way to the bottom of his 'Got Hero?' hoodie.

Russia started to push the hoodie up, and that was where America had had just about enough.

'N-no!' he managed.

Decidedly unheroic, with that little break in his voice. But at least he got the word out.

'Nyet?' Russia asked, pulling back fractionally.

He sounded sad. His hands kept hold of the edge of America's sweatshirt, ready to pull it up, but he didn't.

'No,' America said again, more firmly.

'Okay.' Russia let go of his shirt.

Really? America thought. It's that easy?

As he tried to catch his breath- which wasn't easy for some reason- Russia lifted his hands away from America and brought them up to his own chest. His black gloved fingers fumbled. He was unfastening his own coat.

As the toggles came loose and the coat slid off his shoulders and dropped on the floor behind him, America stared with wide eyes.

'What-' he started.

Russia was wearing a sweater under the coat. Now he grabbed it by the hem and pulled it up, tugging it off over his head.

'What-' America tried again.

Russia was not wearing anything under the sweater. His chest was ice-pale.

For someone who honestly had a kind of goofy face, America thought (yeah, his eyes were a pretty color, but his nose was too big and his smile was creepy), Russia was really built.

'What-' he began once more, tearing his eyes away from the sight in front of him and lifting them to Russia's face.

Russia was smiling again. Smiling and half-naked.

America was pretty sure his glasses were fogged up now. His nose might even be bleeding. He started to reach up to his face to see if it was, but he didn't make it.

'Now you,' Russia said.

He grabbed America's hands, one in each of his, and without a moment's pause he flattened them against his naked chest.

'Ulp!' America said again.

He could say nothing else. He might never be capable of saying anything else again.

The skin on Russia's chest was warmer than his cold hands. It was smooth and it was soft.

Russia slid America's trapped hands upward. His eyes were closed and his smile was… creepier? Wider, anyway.

Russia slid America's hands all the way up, and then he started sliding them back down.

Oh… America thought.

My…

Goodness.

Silky skin and muscle ran under his fingers. Russia's black-gloved hands were pressing his palms hard against Russia's chest.

America couldn't have pulled his hands away if he had tried. He wasn't certain that he HAD tried.

Russia has hair on his chest, he thought.

Just a little, platinum like on his head, but more than America had.

This is so weird, America thought. I should stop him. I really… need to stop him.

Russia lifted America's hands away from his chest and set them on his shoulders. He leaned in suddenly, and before America could do anything to protest, Russia kissed him again.

Involuntarily, America's hands tightened, gripping Russia's shoulders until his knuckles went white. Russia's scarf tickled the backs of his fingers.

Why was Russia still wearing that?

Why…?

Oh….

He really is good at this, America thought.

And then,

I should stop him.

I should really… stop him.

But he didn't. Russia kissed him slowly. America kind of swooned back against the wall and let him. He was starting to feel dizzy.

I'm a hero, he thought, I can't faint just because some guy is kissing me. I can't…

Russia's hands came back to the hem of his hoodie. 'Da?' Russia asked into his mouth.

'Mmph,' America said.

Russia pushed his shirt up, as if that had been a yes.

His cold hands touched America's naked stomach and America yipped and reflexively tried to jerk away. His head bounced off the wall behind him, and his lip cut itself on Russia's teeth.

He tasted blood.

'Mmph!' he said with more emphasis this time.

But Russia didn't seem to mind the blood. In fact, he seemed to like the taste. His hands spread themselves out and crept higher, bringing America's shirt with them.

America felt cold air on his stomach. It was almost as cold as Russia's hands, which were moving higher, sliding up his chest the way that Russia had slid America's hands up his own chest.

'Mmmph-stop,' America said.

Russia didn't seem to hear him. His hands had splayed themselves on America's upper chest, his gloved fingertips resting against America's collarbones.

Russia was breathing hard against America's mouth. That was not the only thing that was hard about Russia, America thought.

This was getting out of hand.

Hell, this had never been IN hand.

'Russia,' he tried to say.

Russia licked at the blood that was dripping from America's cut lip. He made a purring sound, like a big cat. A tiger. A Siberian tiger.

'I,' he said, pulling his tongue away from America's lip, 'like you. A lot.'

What?

America tried to pull himself together, although the feeling of Russia licking his mouth had kind of made that… difficult.

No way.

No way did Russia like him.

This was… This was… Just weird.

'Don't,' he said. Somehow he was still holding onto Russia's shoulders. Maybe that was why he hadn't fallen down yet.

Russia licked him again, slower this time. His tongue dragged across America's bottom lip, skipping over the cut.

'Mmph!' America said.

'I do,' Russia told him.

'Mmm.. please… don't...' America said.

Not sounding very heroic, he thought.

Russia pulled his mouth away from America's and moved it downwards. He nuzzled America's cheek, and then his chin.

His hands slid lower, too, from America's chest down across his bare stomach.

'Umm,' America said. 'Stop?'

Okay, really not heroic now, champ.

But apparently to Russia 'Umm, stop?' meant yes, please keep doing that, because Russia did.

America whimpered. It was a small, pathetic, lost sound.

So much for being a hero.

Russia's hands had found the waistband of his pants.

No way, America thought. No way is he going to…

He was wrong.

Russia's hand slid down his pants. Russia was feeling him up.

Feeling him up AND down.

This is not okay, America thought. This is really not okay.

And then he thought, you know, he really is good at this.

'Okay,' Russia said, moving his hand. 'You are okay now, da?'

If you keep doing that I'm going to be more than okay, America thought giddily. If you keep doing that, you are going to have hero jizz all over your… Ohhh.

Russia kissed him, swallowing his strangled cry.

For what seemed like forever, Russia kissed him. Then he pulled his hand out of America's pants. He drew back a little and smiled. It was still creepy, America thought.

Actually, it was even MORE creepy, considering what he had just done.

His eyes are pretty, though… His hair is kinda pretty too…

Russia lifted his hand to his mouth.

Oops, America thought. Look at that.

Russia licked the messy palm of his glove. 'Sunflowers,' he said.

Heroes do NOT faint.

Heroes do not make little whimpering noises and then say '_Russia_.'

And when Russia kisses them with a mouth that tastes like… that… heroes definitely do not kiss back.

Maybe I'm not a hero after all, America thought.

And maybe it was okay.


End file.
